


A Fool’s Guide to Keeping Hens

by gerhardts



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Kidnapping, On Hiatus, Stockholm Syndrome, dubcon, gus is a psycho fucking creep in this cause thats how i like em
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23239441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerhardts/pseuds/gerhardts
Summary: "It may be the case that your hens flee when you try to approach them...However, any fidgety, easily excitable chicken can be tamed in a matter of days--if you simply persuade the bird into trusting you."When Gustavo Fring's housekeeper of a decade retires, he becomes undeniably infatuated by her young replacement. So much so that he will do anything it takes to capture her heart—and if all else fails, he can simply capture her entire being.Gus Fring x OC
Relationships: Gustavo Fring/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	1. i. soledad

**Author's Note:**

> the lack of fanfiction about gus is utterly disturbing so i guess i have to write it myself. cross posting on fanfiction.net and wattpad.

_ON CATCHING A CHICKEN:_

_One must first acknowledge that the most important step in capturing a hen is knowing the proper way to hold them. Never hold a chicken by its neck, wings, or legs, as this may injure it. The bird needs to feel secure in your grasp, otherwise she will panic and attempt to flee._

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO

JULY 14, 2009

The sun glimmers off the letters printed on a frosted glass window.

Casa Tranquila.

Sparrows flutter in a nearby young tree, talking to one another playfully. Below, a girl waits, slumped stiffly in the passenger seat of his Volvo. She bites her thumb nail, riddled with anxiety.

Though she has been sitting for so many minutes anticipating it, the sound still rattles her thoroughly. It's what she imagines it must be like to have your house struck by lightning. A thick, earsplitting crack followed by a whole lot of nothing. No echo, no rumbling.

The birds have flown away. She can't even hear herself breathing because she isn't. The glare off of the glass front doors of the nursing home blind her momentarily before she sees him.

Gustavo strides out of the building, composed as ever. His coattails catch the gentle wind as he slips his free hand into his pocket nonchalantly. The girl lets go of the breath she was holding and watches the lock on the car door release. She steps out at once with a colorful vintage suitcase in each hand. Gus, rolling his own luggage, pops open the back door of the car, picks up a large duffel bag, and turns around to unzip the wheeled suitcase.

"So this is it, yeah?" the girl asks quietly. Gus looks up, his eyes meeting hers in response. She nods and gazes across the parking lot sadly as he shuts the car door.

The walk to the freeway is quiet, but not tense. He offers to carry one of her bags, she kindly refuses. Minutes pass in the heat and she then asks him anyways, to which he kindly obliges. They stand among the blades of yucca shrubs, relishing in the breeze brought by passing cars.

A red minivan pulls over at the curb. Toyota, early '90s. Tinted windows. Inconspicuous, the girl thinks. The door glides open and Gus touches the small of her back, urging her inside.

❊ ❀ ❊

FIVE MONTHS AGO

Gus sits poised in his office, his fingers laced in front of him properly. Walter taps his foot as he speaks, telling Gus everything he already knows.

"Therefore, what conclusion am I left to draw?" Walt asks matter-of-factly. "That you believe I have some...proprietary kind of selfishness about my own formula. Some sort of overweening pride, I suppose..."

Gustavo wordlessly agrees.

"...That you think simply _overwhelms_ me—clouds my judgement."

"But it doesn't," Gus pans the question as if it were a statement.

"Absolutely not. I simply respect the chemistry," he assures the both of them. "The chemistry _must_ be respected."

Gus inhales and raises his eyebrows, preparing himself to throw Walter a bone.

"I apologize for being so transparent."

Walt acknowledges this; he's been waiting for it. A strained silence is thick in the air.

Gus has already made up his mind. "Would you take a drive with me? I'd like to show you something."

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

"There are molds and bacteria that can live in volcanoes, you know."

Mariana sets her supplies down on the porch as she speaks, reaching into her apron pocket for the house key. "In a thousand years after man is long gone those little creatures will still be thriving."

The young woman behind her nods shyly, her arm straining from the weight of her vacuum cleaner as she follows closely. The two ladies clamber into the house and drop their things at the entryway as the tall front door swings shut behind them.

"You been to this house yet, mija?" Mariana asks, digging through her sack of clean rags.

"No, not yet," Bonnie replies quietly, looking around at the dark wooden furniture in relief. "Looks like an easy one, yeah?"

"Sí, pero..."

She trails, following the younger woman's gaze. "It's thirty-one hundred square feet, weekly. And you'll be working it alone."

This catches Bonnie's attention. She turns her head, long hair messily tucked into a twist at the back of it.

"Alone? How does that make sense?"

"Owner's request," Mariana answers. "He's very cautious who comes in, told me he had people stealing before, entiendes...?" She catches onto the subtle worry in the girl's eyes and steps closer, squeezing her shoulder amicably.

"Don't worry, mija," she nods, "I know this man, he's good—you'll like him. Handsome, too," she jokes, causing Bonnie to smile sheepishly and roll her eyes.

"Okay, vamos!" Mariana says suddenly, waddling into the living area on her bad knee. "You can start here, I work on the kitchen."

The girl nods, shaking a dusting rag out of her apron pocket. As she runs it carefully over a bookshelf, her eyes naturally fall onto a framed picture of two men frozen in a handshake as they stare into the camera lens.

Assuming that Mariana was being truthful about the homeowner's looks, she instantly knows which one of the two he must be.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The blue Volvo pulls neatly into the front of the laundry, both men stepping out into the red New Mexico sun. Walt gazes at the building apprehensively. Sensing his nerves, Gus beckons him inside.

"Please," he urges, gesturing forward. The pair weave between the workers silently before finding their way to the industrial washing machines. Gus holds down the button to roll the washer forward, leading Walt behind it.

Red light blankets the two men as they descend a flight of stairs leading to a steel door. Walt's eyes dance around anxiously until the light is flicked on. He scans the room in bewilderment.

"What is this?"

Gus lives to impress.

"Your new lab."


	2. on the horizon

The ladies chatter around their table in Spanglish, pecking away at the plastic dish of tortilla chips between them. One of the older women undresses the waiter as he approaches, giving him a wink when he refills her water glass. Bonnie watches out of the open blinds as Mariana, escorted by yet another housekeeper, scuffles in through the front doors of the restaurant. It isn't but a few seconds later that the two turn the corner and spot the black and gold balloons tied to an empty chair.

"Here she comes," announces one of the ladies at the table. They all turn their attention to the approaching Mariana, whose surprise is evident.

"Happy retirement!" the women chime almost in unison.

"Wow! Muchas gracias, ladies!" She gasps as she squats down into the decorated seat carefully and spots a boxed cake, iced with a clock face reading, "NOW THERE'S TIME FOR EVERYTHING".

The women talk about their husbands and their children. They complain about their supervisor Linda and discuss the latest bullshit tabloid news. Bonnie remains mostly wordless, as she hasn't much to say about any of it. She on occasion speaks quietly to Mariana about her upcoming plans, but for the majority of the time keeps entertained listening in to coworkers Rosa and Jimena following their routine riffing. It is now that the table shifts its attention, as the two best friends' voices become central to the conversation.

"Mari, a lot of clients are gonna be disappointed you're leaving," Jimena states, dipping a couple crumbs into a little cup of salsa as if it were a whole chip.

Mariana raises her hands sarcastically. "This company's going to fall apart without me, girls. I'm sorry."

"That new girl's taking on a handful of your clients—the white one." Rosa adds, directed at Jimena, "¿Cúal es su nombre?"

"Alexandra."

"Right."

"Every little gringa is named Alexandra," Jimena jokes, causing the women to snicker.

"She's taking the Pollos guy?" Rosa prods.

Mariana shakes her head. "No, that's miss Bonnie over here."

"Lucky lady," Rosa grins, causing the girl to smile back uncomfortably and go in for a sip of ice water.

"Dios mio, I wanted to fill in on that one," Jimena sighs, resting her chin on her fist disappointedly. "He'll take a liking to you—you got a boyfriend, chiquita?"

Wide eyed, Bonnie shyly shakes her head and hides behind her now empty glass.

"Look, she's blushing," Rosa teases. "Working for that man, you might just have one in a few weeks."

The women collectively chuckle and Bonnie cannot distinguish exactly what for. She sighs silently in relief when the waiter stops at the table-side with a tray of margaritas, derailing the conversation into excited hoots.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Cynthia feels her cheeks burn as she approaches the table. Despite years of food service experience, she still finds herself somewhat apprehensive about confronting customers for fear of aggressive retaliation. Still, she marches valiantly towards the two stiff men at the table, her patience for them freshly worn out.

"Excuse me, gentlemen?" she commands. The men, unmoved, stare back maliciously. "These booths are for paying customers only—"

"Cynthia, it's okay." She turns to find Gustavo behind her, a comforting smile across his face. "I'll handle this."

She nods, slightly defeated, and strides back to her station.

His expression drops instantaneously and he returns their dead-eyed glare, his voice falling low. "¿Como se puedo ayudar?” he demands.

One of the two looks up and acknowledges him. "Tu sabes."

Gus sighs and clenches his fists, exhausted of dealing with these two.

"Cuando baja el sol."

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

She knows it would be polite of her to stay for a minute—he surely has already seen her Volkswagen parked at the curb. However if there is one thing Bonnie hates it’s interacting with clients. The main reason she wanted the job, she told herself, was to be left alone and work at her own pace, not having to put on her prettiest mask of a smile and force a pointless amicable conversation with a stranger. Though it isn’t nearly as mentally taxing as the waitressing job she'd held previously, the few minutes she has to spend on occasion talking to or even greeting the homeowners seem all the more strained the longer she goes between social interactions.

She hoists up her supply caddy in one hand, rolling her vacuum cleaner in the other. A book bag filled with rags hangs tighly on her shoulder, the strap digging into the soft flesh under her pink uniform blouse. She hurries towards the front door, hoping to simply avoid contact with the man entirely.

But the door swings open.

Briefly a bit startled, Gustavo nods to the young woman politely.

"Pardon me."

A stunned Bonnie freezes like a rabbit in headlights, her social ineptitude rearing it's shameful face with a nervous, "hi."

She swears even her voice is clammy.

"You must be Bonnie," he greets, reaching his hand out to shake hers. "I've heard many good things about you."

"You're Mr. Fring?" she assumes, not quite knowing how to respond to the compliment.

"Please, just call me Gus." The man smiles and holds unwavering eye contact, a fact that makes Bonnie want to jump out of her skin. "I'm sad to see Mariana go, but I have no doubts you'll fill in nicely."

"Thank you," she murmurs, her brown eyes darting away unintentionally as the words exit her mouth. He does not look anywhere but her, even as an uncomfortable silence fills the air.

"I've—I've—" she stutters, starting to blush, "gotta head out now..."

"Of course, me as well," Gus immediately reaches for the heavy vacuum she had now set down, picking it up like it's nothing. "I'll take that for you."

Down the driveway he follows as Bonnie strides down the incline to her car. He raises the vacuum up into her trunk, even taking the caddy from her hands and placing it inside neatly.

"I shall see you next week then?" he asserts smoothly, his chin tilted slightly but his posture perfectly upright.

"Yeah," she nods, gripping her car keys in the pocket of her apron. "Have a good night, Mr. Fring."

_Gus_ , she chastises herself mentally.

He politely ignores the mistake and grins, his hands behind his back. "You do the same. Thank you, Bonnie."

She nods and enters the driver's side of her car, feeling a bit perplexed as to why he was still standing there. It must be, she thinks to herself, because he was going back out. As the beetle rolls down the street, she wonders why he even returned home if he was simply to leave immediately after arriving.

Suspicious, she looks in her rearview mirror, feeling as if he may still be standing there, watching.

But he has disappeared.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

"El nombre de la gente es...Hank Schrader," Gus announces to the brothers, facing them confidently. Every word he speaks, he emphasizes. The sun falls quickly on the desert horizon, threatening to steal any and all heat with it as it descends. A golden evening breeze catches his dark jacket.

"Que su muerte les satisfaca."

It is now approximately twelve forty-six in the morning. Gus lies awake on his back, a single top sheet only covering up to his pelvis. His fingers graze the fabric of his white t-shirt over his chest as he stares at the still ceiling fan.

He cannot get her out of his head. Hard as he tries to refrain, the images swirl before him tauntingly.

Her features are those of a porcelain doll—dainty and petite. Her thin eyebrows frame her round face with a delicate, feminine grace he does not see often in his line of work. And her lips—he had to restrain himself from reaching out and touching them—soft and plump, flushed pink as her cheeks; the physical aspect of her job proven in their color. And her timid demeanor only serves to strengthen his desire.

It is now that he finds himself accepting this one simple fact as truth, which is that Gustavo Fring wants this little girl all to himself.

And he will get his way by any means necessary.


	3. pink

Thoughts of her dance in circles around his brain.

The repetitive nature of the restaurant industry only amplifies one's tendency to ruminate, and ruminate he does. The brightly colored uniforms and deep fryers before him disappear completely, giving way to the image of her standing in the dark of the hallway.

Her uniform blouse is unbuttoned to just below her sternum. Her dilated pupils make her eyes look significantly darker and, as if she were in a movie, she leans her head back and runs her hands through her long hair. It flows like water. She reaches out and skims her small fingers over his shirt buttons gingerly before he seizes her wrist and tugs her closer. He can feel her shaky breath against his lips. The corner of his mouth twitches as he leans in to feed on hers.

"Mr. Fring?"

He blinks. A young man stands adjacent to him, anxiously holding a receipt in his pudgy hand. He simply raises his brows, encouraging the boy to speak.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The granite counter squeaks as Bonnie runs her rag over it in circles.

She turns to face the grinding metal sound of the door unlocking, somewhat confused. Gus is properly poised as he strides into the house, hanging his car keys up as he shuts the door behind him. Bonnie puts on her best service voice and repeats the line she asks every client: "hi, how are you?"

Gustavo grins as he approaches the kitchen, almost making her feel guilty for being so impersonal. "I'm wonderful, how are you?"

"I'm just finishing up in here, um," she flicks away the baby hairs stuck to her forehead with sweat. "Then I just need to do that bathroom."

She gestures to the door frame around the corner and Gus nods, stalking around his kitchen to see her work. "I see. That won't take you but half an hour or so, will it?"

Bonnie looks up from where she is collecting her supply basket, doe-eyed.

"Sorry, I don't mean to rush you but," he opens the doors to his stainless steel fridge. "I am expecting company tonight."

"More like fifteen minutes..." the girl heaves her caddy around the corner of the cabinet and places it outside the bathroom door, "...Sir."

He leans back, satisfied. "Perfect, thank you."

He hears her utter a timid, "of course" from the bathroom and smiles to himself, taking a bottle of white wine out of the fridge. A quiet few minutes pass and Gus becomes disinterested in the gentle clinking of glass and metal as he cooks and begins to listen in to the muffled sound of Bonnie scrubbing the inside of the john. Disregarding the splashing water, he holds onto her very subtle sighs as she labors away on her knees, storing them in his brain for later.

"So," she pants, her voice echoing against the porcelain. "Is it a date?"

Shaken out of his trance, he looks across the kitchen. "Sorry?"

"The company you're expecting."

"A business associate," He corrects, turning his head as if she were standing next to him. He carefully sets down the knife he'd been holding and saunters down the cabinets silently, angling himself at just the right place to watch without being seen.

"Oh, okay--" she leans forward to wipe down the bowl of the toilet, exposing a clear outline of her rump. Gustavo nearly gasps. "--Sorry if that was too nosy."

He clears his throat, "no need to apologize."

"You work at that chicken place right?"

"Los Pollos Hermanos," he replies, eyes still locked on her behind, "I own it."

"You're the owner?" Bonnie asks incredulously, spraying scented cleaner around the base of the commode. "Bet you're real busy, then?"

"I would agree with that."

"Is that stressful?" She angles her backside further up to reach her rag behind the toilet. "Being in charge?"

"Not particularly." Gus catches his breath silently. Though his voice does not betray him he is salivating. "Once you learn to prioritize, things just kind of fall into place for you. My job is mainly delegating," he savors the image for one final moment. "So I quite like being the boss."

Bonnie maneuvers to kneel upright, sending him slinking back into the kitchen undetected. "I guess some people just work better in management," she surmises, spraying down the ceramic sink. "So, what are you making?"

"Paila marina," Gus answers, opening a meticulously organized kitchen drawer. "Ever tried it?"

"Can't say I have." She spritzes the mirror with glass cleaner. "We do have something similar in Mexico, though—"

Bonnie's heart skips a beat upon spotting his figure in the mirror, leering in the doorframe.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he lies, a comforting smile crossing his face. "I wanted to give you this before I forget."

Extending his hand, he bestows a small Manila envelope which she takes reluctantly, asking him several questions with her eyes.

"Just a little thank you from us."

"Er—thank you," she stammers, feeling lucky her cheeks are already red from all the physical work. Silence quickly overcomes the two, seeming to echo through the wide hallways. Bonnie's nerves, twisting in her stomach as they always seem to do, get the best of her.

"I'm almost done in here, I just have to mop," she blurts, averting his gaze anxiously.

"Take your time," Gus insists with a grin, returning to the kitchen inattentively.

Within a matter of minutes, Bonnie has left the floor sparkling and gathers her things by the entryway. She offers Gus polite wave, mouthing an unintentionally silent "bye" as she swings the door open. He beams as his eyes meet hers for the final time of the week, but he reverses into a frown without hesitation after the door clicks shut. 

It crosses his mind he may miss her already.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

"Thank you for coming. And Walter," Gustavo puts his hand on the man's shoulder as he walks him onto the porch. "I expect you will consider what I have said. I do hope you take this seriously."

"I do," Walt replies adamantly, nodding once for effect, "take it seriously."

Gus shoots him a friendly smile, his hand resting gently on the doorknob. "Goodnight, Walter."

It is cold inside now. The soft jazz music serves him no purpose without company, so Gus turns it off after he strolls to the dining room table to pick up the dirty dishes and place them in the sink. His soapy wrist rotates around the inside of a bowl and out of the corner of his eye, a flash of pink catches his attention. He glances up, eyes settling on the laundry room French doors, where a familiar jacket is draped on a knob.

He paces eagerly towards it, removing it from where it hangs by the collar. Gus pinches the shoulder seams to fold it neatly into a square. From its height at his chest, he can smell her flowery perfume woven into the threads. Without thinking, he presses it to his face, melting into her scent. Every image of her, real and imaginary, floats against him gracefully like clouds against the wings of a plane.

With a weary sigh, he retreats to his solitary bedroom, jacket in hand.


End file.
